Christmas Present
by oldmule
Summary: Set Post 9.3 Ruth's resolution to herself to set things right. Christmassy H/R.
1. Chapter 1

**Set somewhere around 9.3, post proposal amidst bickering H/R.**

* * *

><p>Forget the past.<p>

Ignore the future.

Think only of the here and now ... of Christmas present.

It is a thought, a plan … a resolve which comes several days early, before the normal date due for resolutions.

And so she knocks on his front door.

"Ruth." The surprise is evident.

"Hi," she says quietly, thrusting forward a bottle of red.

She waits, hopeful of a positive reaction, hopeful of a smile, hopeful of being let in out of the raging gale that is blowing what's left of her hairstyle to the other side of Greater London.

She doesn't get a smile but she is allowed in.

He takes the wine, his hand briefly catching against her icy fingers.

"You need gloves," he says simply.

"I'll ask Santa," she replies.

At last the smile, not full blown, but there.

"Maybe you should open it," she suggests, "it may need time to thaw a little."

The smile is gone. Evidently he himself has not thawed enough. He hesitates.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Why, Harry? Because I said no, or because we've hardly managed to be civil to one another for the last few weeks?"

Her candour surprises him.

"Because we should keep this restricted to work."

"Harry, it's work we're struggling with."

"Oh," he murmurs. "You've come to talk about work."

"No, Harry. I've come to talk about us. That's what's causing the problems on the grid."

"There is no 'us', Ruth, you've made that clear and like I said we move on from it."

He turns away to the kitchen, bottle still cradled in his hands.

Frustrated she shouts after his retreating back.

"But you can't Harry."

He turns accusingly towards her but says nothing.

"You may have tried but you can't move on and that's why we're struggling."

"You're wrong, Ruth," he catches his own words, smiling slightly, "That's not something I say very often, is it?"

"Well, maybe you should."

"Should what?"

"Should say it, Harry? Maybe you should have said it when I told you we couldn't be 'more together'."

He looks at her, the bottle drops to his side.

"Were you thinking it? Were you thinking I was wrong?" she demands to know.

"Yes," he says quietly.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"In my experience, Ruth, when you are determined upon something then you're not for turning."

"I'm not Margaret bloody Thatcher."

"Besides which, how desperate did you want me to seem? Never taking 'no' for an answer."

"I wanted you to tell me the truth, Harry."

He looks at her a moment before speaking.

"And you still want that now, Ruth?"

"Yes, I do."

He walks back to her, pushing the bottle back into her hands.

"You were wrong, Ruth, you were so very wrong. We may not deserve to be together but we could be. It's taken years to get to where we are now, years of hesitation and self denial, years where fate barged it's way through, years to say the words. Years Ruth. And you decided in a heartbeat, whilst telling me about the 'thousand of times' you would have said yes. You didn't even think about it, you didn't even ..." He stops, turning away.

"What? What, Harry?"

"I wanted you to say yes. I didn't expect it. I don't know what I expected, but I knew if you said no then at least I'd asked, at least you knew." He takes a breath. "And if it's a 'no', it's a 'no', if _I'm_ not what you want then that's fine, but if I am and you're scared of the future, scared of being more together then yes, Ruth, you're wrong."

"Very wrong?"

"Yes, totally, irrefutably, undeniably wrong."

"That'll be me wrong then?" she half smiles.

His lip curls gently, "I'd say so, Ruth."

"So ... now that we've established that, do you think you might actually get around to opening this?" She proffers the bottle once more.

"Why? Do you think we have more to talk about?" he asks and the hope is evident.

"I'd say that you've made a convincing argument to tell me how wrong I am and that perhaps now you need to explain to me what the right thing to do would be."

"The right thing?" he asks stepping a little closer.

"Yes, Harry. The way we can move on past this."

She sees at once the doubt shadow his face, his movement halted, his breath still and she knows she better spell it out. They've had enough misunderstandings, enough words unspoken.

"You better start explaining how we can go back to work and be civil and how, having done that we can manage to stay civil if we're together."

"Together?" he whispers.

"Why do you keep repeating everything?"

"You want us to be … together, Ruth?"

"Why else would I be standing in your hallway on Christmas Eve with a bottle of wine?"

He smiles and the warmth of it spreads over his whole face and radiates it's heat to her.

She offers him the bottle once more.

"My present?" he asks, taking back the wine.

"No, Harry," she smiles, taking his face in her soft, cold hands, "_this_ … is your present."

And she kisses him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ruth, are you sure about this?"

"No."

He looks at her, their faces still close, her hands still resting upon his cheeks.

"Are you?" she asks.

He can't think of the right answer so his hand rises from her waist to the back of her neck and he pulls her to him, lips pressing hard upon hers.

"I guess that was a yes," she says breathlessly when he releases her.

He nods as his eyes burn into hers, their intensity overwhelming her. She doesn't know what to say.

There is something hard pressing against her.

"Is that a bottle of wine … or are you just pleased to see me?" she blurts out, immediately flushing and wondering why the hell she said it.

She can see the surprise on his face before he starts laughing.

"Would you like a glass?" he asks.

"Only for the last hour."

"Sit down," he smiles, turning to the kitchen as she crosses to the living room.

"Ruth…" she turns back. "I'm always pleased to see you."

She flushes once more as he disappears.

She glances around the house, it's him and yet there is something not lonely but 'alone' about it. Very him.

He stands in the doorway, unseen, watching her. He thinks that strangely her sitting there fills the space that's lacking without her. That the house seems more of a home with her in it.

"Here we go," he steps forward, glasses in hand. "It's a little chilled."

"You should have put it in the microwave."

"The microwave?"

"Well, if you're desperate…." She tails off, thinking she really ought to say nothing more. God, she feels like a teenager. She thought kissing him would do it, kissing him would remove the embarrassment, remove the awkwardness. But no.

He sits beside her, handing the glass and watching her. She takes it and takes a sip. He does not.

"Stop it," she smiles.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me."

"I'm not."

"You are, you're staring."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," he looks away.

But only for a second.

"Harry!"

He is looking at her and now he is smiling.

"What?" she says.

He shakes his head.

"What?"

"I feel like a schoolboy who's just kissed his first girl."

She laughs, "trust me, schoolboys don't kiss like that."

"Kissed a lot have you, Ruth?" he smiles.

She sips her wine coyly, "one or two."

"It seems there's a few things I still need to learn about you, then," he says, his eyes still fixed, "in addition to you not liking being watched."

"Watched is okay, it was the way you were watching."

"And how's that?" he asks bemused.

"I don't know. Like a …. like a lion … following it's prey," she says, thinking she's sounding ridiculous again.

He laughs lightly. She takes a long, nervous drink of the rather cold wine.

"Well, Ruth, I'll let you know when I'm ready to pounce."

Suddenly the red is caught in her throat as she begins to choke, face nearly as red as the merlot.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm fine … really."

Harry looks more than a little unconvinced.

"It just went down the wrong way."

"Would you like some water?"

"No, Harry, I just need to concentrate on swallowing my wine rather than trying to inhale it," she says feeling exasperated with herself as well as embarrassed.

"Yes, well, swallowing is always better," he adds as she glances up at him. They both realise what he has said.

"I'll get water."

He beats a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

She sits, occasionally still clearing her throat.

Why, she wonders, even when it should be easy, is it not? How do they manage to do this to each other? This … this … excruciating awkwardness.

The glass of water appears before her.

"Thanks," she takes a gulp.

He sits back beside her.

"Ruth …"

"Harry …"

They both speak together and stop.

And then they each wait for the other.

Silence.

He smiles at her sheepishly, raises his eyebrows and nods to her to begin.

"I'm sorry, I don't seem to be very good at this, do I?"

"You're good at everything you do, Ruth," he says warmly.

She laughs slightly.

"You are."

She shakes her head, gazing into the wine she now clutches as a prop.

"What?" he asks.

"I came here resolved not to think about the past, nor even the future. I came to try and seize the moment, the here and now, before I had chance to think too much." She sighs. "And now here I am just …."

She shakes her head.

"… Having second thoughts?" he asks tentatively, apprehensively.

"No. No, Harry," she looks at him, blue eyes wide and shining.

"Then what, Ruth?"

Again she shakes her head, looking away.

"What's wrong?"

She takes a deep mouthful of the merlot managing not to choke.

"Ruth?" he prompts, feeling, not for the first time, so close and yet so far.

"I wanted to …I thought … I…"

"What?"

"I wanted to come round and … "

He waits.

And waits.

"And?" he prompts.

"Oh, I don't know the bloody word!" she spits out, frustrated. "To … to sweep you off your feet."

His face does not flicker.

"To sweep me off my feet?"

"Well, no, that doesn't sound right," she complains angrily. "I wanted to … to… show you … I wanted to just …"

"Seduce me?" he says quietly.

'Yes! Yes, I did. And I'm bloody useless at it!"

He smiles, looking fondly at her.

And then he gets up, standing before her he offers his hand. She looks up at him wondering what he's doing but the face before her begs her trust. She takes his hand and rises from the sofa. He turns away leading her, she wonders where, her heart beating heavily in her chest. But he passes the stairs and continues towards the hallway, opening the front door. He steps to one side waiting for her to walk through it. She hesitates but he smiles. She steps out into the wind and he closes the door in her face.


	4. Chapter 4

The gale is still raging outside but the door reopens within a mere moment.

"Ruth," he says, a surprised expression on his face.

"May I come in?' she asks.

"Well, I …"

"Harry, I need to come in," she says firmly.

He steps aside and she walks in past him towards the living room.

He follows.

"You're wondering why I'm here?" she says, her back to him.

"Yes, yes, I am."

She turns and begins to walk slowly forwards.

"I'm here to say I'm sorry, Harry. I'm here to say that you were right and I was wrong…"

She stops in front of him. Close, almost touching.

"… Very wrong," she smiles, watching the twinkle in his eyes, the encouragement in his eyes.

Her hand reaches up, her fingers stroking his cheek.

"I'm here to say that I want to be with you. I don't want to be afraid, I don't want to be cautious."

Her thumb runs delicately across his lips, barely brushing them.

"I'm here because it's Christmas and there's no one I'd like to share that with more than you."

Her eyes burn into his, honest, open, raw, trusting and hopeful.

"I'm here because I believe it's time. Time for us."

Her other hand runs up his chest, seeking out the skin between his shirt buttons.

"That's why I'm here, Harry."

Her fingers have slid behind his neck and spread through his hair, massaging, needing.

"… And I don't want to go home tonight."

His, head tips back away from her, tilted towards the ceiling as he slowly deeply inhales.

For the first time there is hesitancy in her voice, "If that's what you want…."

His face returns to hers, his eyes piercing, his expression no longer soft.

"What?" she asks as he stares at her.

His answer is a growl.

"I'm seduced, Ruth."

He closes the small distance between them in a heartbeat, pouncing pushing, wanting. Wine forgotten, awkwardness forgotten, all rational thought forgotten.

This time when he leads her it is not to the door but the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

"You know there's no going back from this?" he whispers beside her.

"Do you regret it?" she asks, eyes flicking to his, their two heads resting side by side.

"Do I regret it?" he looks at her in bewilderment, "I regret half of my life, Ruth, my failings, my mistakes, my weaknesses. But this …? I could never for a moment regret this."

"That's easy to say, you're still in bed with me."

"Yes, and with any luck I'll still be here come Boxing Day."

She can't prevent the smile, nor the small shiver as she feels his hand begin to slide slowly down her back.

"But what about when reality hits, Harry? When normal life goes out the window, when we're back on the grid?"

His hand pauses it's journey.

"I thought you'd vowed not to think about the future?"

"Yes, well that was yesterday."

"So, this morning you're back to thinking about past, present and what's to come?"

"Maybe we should," she says quietly.

"Okay. Let's! Let's analyse it, Ruth."

His arm pulls back from her and he props himself up on one elbow.

"Ready?"

"Yes," she replies seriously.

"Right," he takes a deep breath. "The past…"

"Well …" she continues, wondering where to start, though she never gets the chance to finish the thought.

"The main thing about the past, Ruth, is that it took me far too bloody long to get you into bed. As for the present…." he announces lifting the sheet a little, "Well, it looks particularly good from where I'm sitting."

"Lying," she corrects, trying to stay serious.

"And as for the future, what do you suppose I see there?"

"More time in bed?" she ventures, coyly.

"Possibly, but that wasn't exactly what I was thinking."

"It wasn't?"

"No."

"Oh, right," she says quietly.

He works hard to stop himself from smiling at the disappointment on her face.

"In the future, Ruth, I see us blundering about getting it wrong, worrying we've said or done the wrong thing, trying to fit life and work into a space that barely has room for one. But whatever we do, however we blunder along, I only ask that we blunder through together."

He waits for her to answer.

"You've been working on your romantic proposals, post funeral, haven't you?" she asks, face deadly serious.

"Oh, you noticed?"

"It was hard to miss, Harry."

"That's good," he says laying back.

"What are you doing?" she asks as he stares at the ceiling paying her no more attention.

"I'm contemplating whether a fry up would make a suitable alternative to Christmas dinner."

"A fry up?" she repeats, but his eyes are still fixed above.

"And I'm also wondering if you're the sort of woman who only goes around seducing men on Christmas Eve."

He shivers and gasps slightly as in answer her hand finds him beneath the sheet.

"Oh, so it's all Christmas holidays then, Ruth?"

"And New Year, if you play your cards right."

She smiles, eyes alight as her hand strokes him gently.

"Are your hands always this cold?" he adds.

"Are you complaining?"

"No. No. Far from it."


	6. Chapter 6

"Good Christmas?" asks Dimitri cheerily.

"Quiet," answers Ruth, smiling, "you know... lazy."

"Never get out of bed, did you, Ruth?" suggests a passing Harry.

"Oh, they're the best kind of holidays," Tariq ventures, thankfully saving her from finding an answer.

"Indeed they are," adds Harry, "now if the niceties are over, can we please get on with finding Mahmet before New Year because I for one have plans."

He strides into his office leaving the rest to ponder just what Harry Pearce might be doing to celebrate.

Ruth, however, knows very well.

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later the office door slides open.<p>

"Problem?" Harry asks, glancing up.

"I thought we decided to behave normally at work?"

"Hardly. You just knocked," he looks at her, mischief in his eyes.

"Harry," she says, ignoring him, "we said that we would keep you and I as separate from work as possible."

"And?"

She sighs.

'And so far you've winked at me in the pods; sent me three, what can only be described as, lewd texts; and attempted to kiss me in the forgery suite."

"And your problem is…?"

"That's not behaving normally."

"Well, I found it a little more difficult than expected."

She sighs again.

"Harry, I can't do this."

His eyes lose something of their sparkle.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't do this… this…what we're doing. Some people might get off on the secrecy, the danger of it, but I don't."

His eyebrows rise.

"And, yes," she adds patiently, "I know that sounds ridiculous considering what we do for a living."

"But we're doing nothing wrong, Ruth," he says standing before her.

"Yes, I know that," she snaps, "but work is work, Harry. Home is home."

He opens his mouth to speak.

"And don't say it," she warns, immediately.

"What?"

"Whatever it was you were about to say."

"You don't know what I was about to say."

"No doubt it was something to do with mixing the two."

He closes his mouth.

"Well, wasn't it?"

"You'll never know now," he says, somewhat sulkily.

"Go on, then, what was is?

"Doesn't matter," he moves back to his chair.

"Come on, say it."

He shakes his head.

She sighs and waits, eyebrows raised, expectant.

"Okay, Ruth, if you must know I was going to say that the problem is that wherever _you_ are, feels like home."

He is staring at her defiantly and she at him.

They remain like that, his words slowly settling between them.

They look at each other, defenses falling.

She sits down.

He sighs.

"We're blundering, aren't we?" she says quietly.

He nods.

"Yes, Ruth, I think we are."

He looks out at the team on the grid, gathered around Dimitri's monitor, focused intently on something.

"You know, I don't think I can do this either," he says, his eyes turning back to hers.

"What do you mean?" she asks, her heart suddenly unwilling to carry out its basic functions.

"I don't want to pretend, Ruth. Our whole life is secrets. I know what we said but I don't want to hide. I don't want any more pretence."

"Any more pretence? You've only managed three and a half hours, Harry, and most of that you've failed in."

"I love you."

He says is so quietly, so simply, it stops her mid breath and all she can do is stare at him.

He watches her intently.

"This is the point you're meant to say it back…."

But she says nothing.

"…. if you don't, that's okay. My feelings won't change Ruth, whatever happens."

He waits for some kind of answer.

She gets up.

She walks to the door.

And she slides it closed behind her.

Leaving him facing an empty chair and the last answer he would ever wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

Ruth walks towards the group still focused on the image on Dimitri's monitor, which is of no great significance to national security, but rather an amusing photo of him wearing a ridiculous Christmas paper hat.

"Has to be traditional," he states authoritatively.

"More like disfunctional," mutters Beth, bored of the debate.

"Ah, Ruth…." says Dimitri, "turkey, or goose?"

"What?'

"Turkey, or goose? Which did you have?"

He looks at Beth, eagerly anticipating the answer which will prove him right.

"Bacon," says Ruth.

Three sets of eyes move from expectant to bewildered.

"Bacon and egg, actually. In a bread roll."

"Yeah, but what about for dinner?" asks Tariq.

"That was dinner. We were rather late getting up and that was all Harry had in."

She ignores their aghast expressions looking at the image on the monitor, "Very fetching, Dimitri," she adds, turning away, "…now could we get on with finding Mahmet."

Tariq glances at Dimitri, doubting his comprehension of the English language as Beth watches Ruth head back towards Harry's office, Dimitri wearing the same rather vacant expression as under his paper hat.

"No more secrets, no more pretence," she announces standing in the doorway having failed to knock.

Harry glances out at the three sets of eyes all peering in.

"Why? What did you tell them?"

"Enough."

And with that she walks away.

He follows her out of the office, somewhat perplexed himself.

"Ruth….?" he calls across the grid.

She stops at her desk.

"Yes, Harry?"

He pauses, aware of the team who stand between them, heads turning quickly from one to the other as though watching a game of tennis.

"I….erm …" he tails off as their heads spin round to him.

THWACK! Back to Ruth.

"You want to know where Mahmet is?"

THWACK! Forehand return to Harry.

"Err….yes, that's right."

THWACK! Down the line to Ruth.

"Why? Because you have plans for a lazy New Year?"

He begins to smile, "Yes, I do. Exceptionally lazy."

"That's a coincidence…" she says sitting down, "…so do I."

"Good," he nods, turning away, "I'll leave you with it then."

"And Harry…"

THWACK! All heads bar his whip to Ruth.

"I love you too."

The audience turn in uniform slow motion to stare across the grid at the retreating figure of Harry Pearce.

He pauses in his tracks for only a moment and then veers off, stepping towards the pods. Hidden from them all is the broad smile which spreads unchecked across his face.

"I think we're out of bacon, Ruth."


End file.
